


You'll Miss Me When I'm Gone

by QueenOfMotherfuckingTerrasen, StariNights



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Orginal Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bitterness, F/F, Foster Care, Gen, I Do, I know Shira, I'm Mad, Lesbians, M/M, Trust Issues, Vampires, Witches, brooklyn is here don't worry, did I mention eveyone is gay, do you ever want to talk about your feelings Spades, gays, jack is a bi diaster, javid is somewhere, like 201X something, like its our own, like really really, mentions of abuse, mentions of people reincarnated, no, set in the newsie world but not, so many references to musicals because this girl., spot found race again, super gay, takes place in modern age, this girl likes them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 15:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfMotherfuckingTerrasen/pseuds/QueenOfMotherfuckingTerrasen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StariNights/pseuds/StariNights
Summary: Shira Kula hasn't had a home since she was 2, has never made a proper friend. Given to one foster home after another, like an unwanted Christmas gift. She's back in New York at long last. Maybe this time, she'll be good enough for someone.





	You'll Miss Me When I'm Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Death, now someone new.

2003

Warrior lived a good life, a long life. Longer than most, that was. Without the spells, she might have died in the 80s or the 90s. A hundred and twenty-one years, my my, she wasn't a spring chicken anymore! Still, her mind was sharp, and due to those immortal spells, she looked no older than 80 at most. 

"We could live longer," said Spades one day, sitting at the dinner table as they ate. With no family or friends, they went unnoticed except for the occasional visit from Spot's niece, Ashley. She still looked young and beautiful despite being 37. She always brought her recorder and listened to their stories, but Warrior and Spades were out of stories to tell.

"Yeah...but do we want to?" She asked quietly, looking up at her with knowing eyes.

"I've never thought ya as a quitter,"  remarked her lover.

"It ain't quitting...it's just resting. After all we've done, I think we deserve a rest" She shut her eyes for a minute, recalling her youth on the streets of Brooklyn selling papes and making headlines. After Spades didn't answer, she spoke again.

"All our friends are dead, Spades, dont you want to move on, maybe see them again?" She muttered, the last of them, Spot and Race died in the 90s.

Life had gotten lonely without those two jackasses, their grins and smiles. All of her brothers were gone too. Newsies didn't sell papes any more, thanks to television and all that stuff. It was strange watching the world move on without them.

Spades just nodded, "I'll take the spells off tonight. We'll pass pretty easy without 'em."

They spend the rest of the day getting their affairs in order then doing what they loved for the last time. The spells were off before they went to bed, and Warrior tucked herself up under her arm, kissing her one last time.

"See ya on the other side," Spades whispered into the darkness.

"See ya there," Warrior muttered as they both turned off the lights and settled to sleep. The next morning, when Ash called, an officer answered and informed her that both of her aunts passed away in their sleep.

Ash sat in her apartment, trying hard to fight tears. She'd plan the funeral, have them buried in the same grave, and collected her inheritance in the next few days. She sniffed, wiping away her tears. "Damn old birds...." She muttered and grabbed her coat to drive to New York.

~

Shira Kula was in the system since she was two years old. According to the records, her parents died in a car accident. The details were always murky and Shira never stayed in one place long enough to really do some digging. None of her relatives wanted her so Shira was placed in the system, meaning she went from home to home. Most of the time, she considered herself lucky. Most of the homes she went to were...okay. Not the best but not the worse. She'd seen the worse, numbed herself and survived it. In the okay homes, she tried to be good. Most times, she made it to spring break before finally snapping, snarling her teeth and baring them. Turns out Shira was trouble, more trouble than most people wanted. In the end, people gave her to the social workers like an unwanted Christmas gift.

She still tried, home after home she'd stay on her best behavior for as long as she could, but time after time they'd give up on her. Tossing her back in the system before december began.

Shira blamed her temper, one that burned hotter than hell. To this day, Shira didn't know were all the rage came from. Social injustice? Probably. Trauma? Yeah, sounded about right. Never having a loving family that wanted to adopt her? Mhm, checked all the boxes. Either way, it led to her leaving homes more and more often.

Her life was packed away in a duffel bag, although it never was quite full. Hand-me-down clothes, another pair of shoes, toiletries, and her most prized possession was always tucked away in a plastic bag, in a pocket of the bag. Inside the pocket, inside the bag was a very old playing card. An ace of spades given to her by a strange woman. She still remembered her.

"Why are you in trouble?" the woman asked the girl, a black hat sat on the head and she wore big sunglasses over her dark eyes.

Shira's hands were covered in bruises and more were forming on her cheeks. The other boy looked worse. Without thinking about it, she answered in Yiddish first. "ער שלאָגן מיר, אַזוי איך שלאָגן אים צוריק." He hit me so I hit him back.

Somehow, the woman understood and answered back in Polish. As if this was some sort of a test. "Robi ten zdarzają się często?" Does this happen often?

Shira stared hard at the strange woman with her black hat, her olive skin, and her big sunglasses. "Yes." She answered back, in English this time. There was too much rage in her baby voice, too much bitterness for a six-year-old child.

The woman smiled, flashing a gleaming fang. "Then I have something for you,"  Out of her purse she pulled out a plastic bag, she handed it to Shira.

"Open it"

Inside was a playing card, a very old playing card with the corners turning and it smelt of dust and thinning paper. "I want you to take care of this, make you sure you never lose it, okay?" The woman patted her head, smiling.

"Okay," Shira was too busy admiring the card, an ace of spades. Finally snapping out of it she jerked her head up "Hey lady-" she scanned the area but the woman was gone. Shira never saw her ever again.

"I'll be good for this one," She muttered when she was placed in Miss Medda Larkin's home. She'd liked Miss Larkin with her snappy pink outfit, her home was filled with other foster children that looked...happy. It was also the first time that Shira was back in New York City since she was eight. One of her new foster-mates was waiting for her at the door. He was short with dark hair and eyes and absolutely covered in sun spots, wearing a red flannel, the sleeves rolled up.

"Hey, welcome home." He said as Shira got out of the car. "Ya need help with your bags?" His voice was thick with a deep Brooklyn accent. Shira had one of those when she was angry, although it'd been thinning in the last couple of years.

"Nah, this is it." She hefted her duffel bag and walked up the stairs. "I'm Shira."

"Sean," he said as he let her in, started showing her up to her room. "But ya can call me Spot,"

"Spot?" She followed, her brows furrowed. "Why Spot?"

"We all got nicknames for each other round 'ere." He opened the door and she walked in. "We'll get one for ya soon enough," She set her bag on the ground. The room was okay, bed looked soft enough with some drawer and a closet. Looked a little plain but Shira wondered if it was supposed to be, so that she could express herself on the walls. Make her mark.

She quickly dismissed the idea, "I won't be saying long," She told Spot.

A grin spread across his cheeks. "Yeah, sure. I'll let ya unpack. Call if ya need anything." He left Shira with an uncertain feeling in her stomach. Maybe he's right. Maybe you belong here. said a little voice before she stamped it out. She'd be gone by Christmas, just like always. She belonged nowhere and she was fine with that. it was the only life she'd ever known after all. She needed no sympathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the yiddish or polish is wrong. if it is, please hit me up in the comment's with the correction and I'll update it.  
> And yeah, Shira seems a bit rough. She'll get better.


End file.
